


kiss me on the mouth and set me free (3+1)

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: 3 Things, Coming Out, M/M, Pansexual Simon Lewis, aggressive endearments of love in spanish, busting outta the closet with the speed of a snail, clary is a good bro, clary please help this boy out, hi hello i'm saphael trash, i almost deleted this because i rarely write over 1k words, it was supposed to be a drabble i swear, let's give him some m/m dating history because pansexuality, raphael santiago is the biggest sap Fight me, simon is bad at flirting, simon lewis gets his shit together au, simon needs to claim the love of his life already :'), this grew legs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9602495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: The first time he realizes he's not like other boys, he's fourteen and gets smacked with a dodgeball because he'd gotten distracted. It's not due to the packs of girls nearby with their glossy lips and loud giggles, no.He'd honed in his classmate, Mattias as he stretched out on the bleachers, doodling in a notebook with dark curls falling over his forehead.





	

**1)**  

The first time he realizes he's not like other boys, he's fourteen and gets smacked with a dodgeball because he'd gotten distracted. It's not due to the packs of girls nearby with their glossy lips and loud giggles, no. He'd honed in his classmate, Mattias as he stretched out on the bleachers, doodling in a notebook with dark curls falling over his forehead. Simon's gaze flickered over worn blue jeans and the curve of a jaw with it's smooth olive skin, wondering what it'd feel like under his hand. It was then he was hit with a stinging pain as a ball hit the floor. 

The coach blew his whistle as Simon rubbed at his aching shoulder. "You're out, Lewis!"

He glanced up quickly, surprised to find Mattias staring. Everything seemed to blur and fade into the background. 

"Outta the way nerd," growled a taller boy as he pushed past him. 

He made a quick dash for the bleachers and tried to make sense of what happened, why it felt like there were thousands of butterflies in his stomach. Nothing came of it but he replayed it over and over in his head at night when it was quiet enough to think. 

-*-

"Clary."

"It's 1:43am, Simon. My mom is gonna kill me," she whispers harshly. He can practically see her raised brows and sharp eyes through the phone.

She pauses, "Are you okay?"

He adjusts the phone between his shoulder and ear, frantically pacing. He has yet to sleep and there's a math test tomorrow that he can't afford to fail but a crisis is rarely on time. It took him an hour just to work up the nerve to call. 

"I-I'm fine. I think. Um I was wondering...if a boy likes another boy is that bad? Uh this kid in chem asked."

Clary yawns into the phone and is silent for a few seconds. He has his finger over the button to end the call when she speaks. 

"I don't see a problem with it if that's how he is. Simon, we're born who we are."

She's his best friend and if anyone has the answer it'd be her. Her reply, though she doesn't know it, is a relief and a huge weight off his shoulders. He sucks in a deep breath and...

"Clary, I think I like b-"

He hears muffled voices on the other end and an irritated Jocelyn. "Sorry, I have to go. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

No it's fine. He'll go through this emotional rollercoaster of sexual orientation on his own. "It's cool, yeah."

The line goes dead. 

He thinks of Mattias, of Clary, of who he's supposed to be vs who he might actually be. 

* * *

 

**2)**

They're seniors the next time it happens. 

Coming to Elise's graduation party was Clary's idea and he wants to bolt the minute they walk through the door. The living room area is a crowd of bodies dotted with balloons and streamers in school colors, music pulses in the air, his fellow classmates sway with red solo cups of alcohol and this is  _not_ his scene. Still, Clary had asked with big green puppy dog eyes and he couldn't resist. 

"I'll get us something to drink," he volunteers, practically shouting over the noise. 

Clary nods, already talking to a boy from homeroom who has been crushing on her for months. Simon is caught between wanting to stay by her side to protect her and making a mad dash for the drinks area. The latter wins out when the two begin to dance to a fast paced pop number that he doesn't care for. 

"Kinky," says a male voice from behind him. His skin breaks out in goosebumps at the hot breath against his ear. Paranoid that he's stood there for a minute too long, he whirls around. 

"Pardon?" 

The boy has big green eyes, sandy blonde hair and pouty lips that would make any girl's knees weak. Except, he's no girl and this is more awkward than it should be, purely because of the tangled mess that makes up Simon Lewis and his confusing sexuality. Ah yes, Jewish geek extraordinaire with the uncanny ability of losing his common sense around beautiful people. What a catch. 

There's a frosted bottle of pink liquid in the boy's hand as he hoists it up for Simon to see. There in white lettering reads _Kinky vodka._ Of course, the universe hates him. 

The blonde smiles, crooked and amused as Simon turns beet red. "It's really good with Sprite." 

"I don't have a cup."

"Let's take care of that then," replies the boy with a wink. 

All at once, Simon's skin seems to tingle and his palms are damp. The last time he felt like this he'd kissed Maureen for the first time or more so  _she_ kissed  _him._ This cannot be good. He follows the other anyway as they weave through the crowd.

-*-

He loses track of time and how much alcohol he has consumed somewhere after midnight. As it turns out, the boy's name is Daniel and his lips are as plush as they appear in Simon's blurred vision. He tastes like citrus and smells incredible. When a hand slips under his t-shirt to ghost over his ribs, Simon soaks in the warmth and kisses harder, deeper. He's vaguely aware of a bathroom stall, his back up against it and lips muffling the obscene noises coming from his mouth. God it's like being consumed in the best possible way. 

-*-

He wakes on Clary's couch the next morning, a folded up paper in his pocket with a number on it and suspicious purple bruises on the slope of his shoulder. His head feels like a jackhammer has been taken to it followed by a chisel. 

Next to him is a foul smelling bucket and a bottled water. Hell. How much did he drink last night? Where's Clary? He's the worst best friend ever, in the history of mankind. 

"Cl-Clary," he mumbles, throat sticky and dry. He gropes for the round familiar shape of his glasses and slips them on. 

She rounds the corner a minute later, mug of steaming coffee in hand and a chipper smile per usual. Normally he'd be over the moon to see that smile but at this current time he just wants to die without making a mess of himself and the couch.

"So," she says, moving aside his feet and sitting at the other end. "What's her name?"

His brain is fuzzy but fragments begin to slide together. Vodka, kissing a freckle on the inside of a pale neck, green eyes, D? What was his name?  _His???_

 _Daniel,_ answers a smooth voice in his head. 

It's too early for this. Clary still assumes he's her 100% red blooded heterosexual run of the mill best pal and he doesn't have the energy to correct her, not when he's wearing the proof of a lie on his skin. 

"Uhh...what? What was the question again?"

Clary rolls her eyes, grinning. "Come on, don't be shy. You know you can tell me anything, Simon."

Sure, he'd blurt it out right then and there:  _I'm not even close to being straight, I've had a mad crush on you forever and I made out with a dude last night in Elise's bathroom that smelled like old lady perfume. And I liked it. A lot._

No thank you.

He lifts the mug to his lips and cringes when he swallows an overheated gulp of coffee so strong it could practically walk. _Think_. D names- Dana, Diana, Deandra,  _Danielle._

"Danielle."

Clary seems so proud and it's one more reason on a pile of thousands _not_ to confess. "Simon Lewis, ladies man," she teases.

Yeah, he thinks, rubbing a hand over a purple mark on the nape of his neck.

* * *

 

 **3)**  

 All he wanted to do was pick up a Beatles vinyl for Clary's birthday and a new guitar pick, honestly. 

"I still say John Lennon was the best one. Without him, they fell apart."

He'd been lost somewhere in his head, daydreaming about the expression on Clary's face when she opened his gift and maybe the possibility of a kiss on the cheek when...

"Y'know he has a son?"

There's a guy to his right with a copy of the exact record he'd been searching for. He's two inches shorter than Simon, has a copper tinge to wind blown brunette hair, a Clash shirt on and Converse. He's unconventionally handsome, not quite Clary's type but  _maybe_ he's Simon's type? 

He came to terms with his sexuality not long after the Daniel fiasco when he'd spent hours scouring the internet for answers. Pansexual is what fit the best and that's fine. So he likes kissing boys, feeling the angles of their body, the-

"Anyways," says the boy, assuming Simon either isn't interested or is a creep for staring at him blankly. 

Damn.

"Sean. Sean Lennon," he sputters. 

The boy beams, holding out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Sean Lennon. I'm Oliver," he teases.

Simon can feel his ears turning red, the blush under his skin rising. He takes the proffered hand and tries to ignore how well it fits in his own. 

"Simon. Um, are you buying that?"

He desperately wants the record that's currently perched in two lithe arms. They've the slightest hint of muscle but not overly so. 

"To be honest," the boy scans the room and cups his hand over Simon's ear, whispering. "I only picked it up because I saw you reaching for it. Figured it'd make a good reason to talk to you."

Simon shifts uncomfortably and begins to fidget, wringing his hands. He's not good at his wooing business and his life would be a lot easier if he were invisible. Where's Clary when he needs her? 

"Oh," he replies.

Oliver steps back and pulls a Sharpie from his pocket. Before he can yank it back, he's taking Simon's hand and writing on the palm.

"You can have the record  _but_ just in case you change your mind,  _Sean Lennon,_ here's my number." 

He blinks at the fine tipped black ink on his palm, the artful 8's and 2's, the name underneath in neat handwriting:  _Oliver (call me)._

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as the other leaves the store with a wink. It's too bad he can't tell Clary. 

-*-

But he does try. 

"Happy birthday to my favorite girl!"

She squeals upon tearing off shiny wrapping paper and throws her arms around him. 

"Simon! You didn't have to do this, thank you." 

He gets a chaste kiss on the cheek for his troubles and somewhere amidst thick slices of cake and balloons, he forgets. 

When it's time to head home, he tries one more time. Third time's a charm, right? 

"There was a guy at the record store that helped me find it. He...he gave me his number...yk just in case I changed my mind."

He holds up his hand, displaying the now smudged writing and she smiles politely. 

"He sounds very nice but I think I'll keep it." 

Missing the point, Fray.

"Yeah...he was. His name was Oliver. Nice guy...funny. He called me Sean Lennon," he replies, grinning at his hand. 

Clary attempts to make out the numbers, fingers tracing over them until it tickles. 

"You should get home before it washes off, _Sean_."

Her teasing tone takes him back to the record store and how different the name sounded on a strangers lips. Better in a way. 

"Yeah yeah yeah. Happy birthday, I'm going home." 

She smiles in a way that makes her nose crinkle up and he surprises her with a hug that lifts her off the ground. She's his best friend for as long as they live even if she's terrible at picking up on the obvious. 

-*-

It rains and by the time he walks through the door, the number is long gone. 

* * *

 

**+1**

He's speaking to Clary, discussing a matter regarding Luke when he hears a low voice from behind. 

"You're slacking, _mi cielito_. I've trained you better than that." 

He may no longer have a pulse but that doesn't mean Simon can't get spooked. He flinches out of instinct and Raphael Santiago grins smugly. He's olive skin, midnight black hair styled like the year is still 1956, rich brown eyes that are practically black and fills out a sharp suit like nobody else. 

Additionally, he's an actual vampire and Simon's  _something._

There's a fresh bite mark on the inside of his thigh and a matching one on the curve of his lower back to attest to that. These days, home is Hotel DuMort with it's darkened windows and expensive paintings. 

Clary is none the wiser. She and Raphael are oil and water, they couldn't possibly be more unalike. 

Simon pinches his lips together, annoyed. "That's because you call me names when I mess up."

"It's my native language," Raphael retorts, defensive. 

"Alright then. Tell me what these words mean 'cause you keep throwing them around. A lot. Um...yeah, that's one. _Cariño_." 

 -*-

Behind him, Clary gasps. She, unlike Simon, took Spanish instead of French for junior year. She isn't terribly fluent in it but knows her way around a sentence, somewhat. Because she's a good friend and a little nosy, she doesn't intervene. 

-*-

Raphael puts a hand on Simon's elbow, barely holding it and somehow manages to make a term of endearment sound like an insult. He cocks his head to the side, brows rising in frustration. 

" _Cariño_ , it means darling. You really want to do this here? Mm?" 

Simon is quiet for all of a hot second. 

" _Mi cielito_ ," he counters, butchering the beautiful words. 

Raphael turns away, grits his teeth and back again. "It means." He shoots Clary a glare that she misses as she pretends to take in the artwork. " _My little sky_. Now, are we finished or would you like to make an announcement to the Shadowhunter?"

Simon freezes, his brain catching up to the filter he'd never quite fixed. 

"But those are..."

"Yes,  _idiota._ "

Because he's stubborn or maybe he's tired of hiding, he pushes on. One more. "... _mi vida?_ _"_

Raphael's face softens, eyes on Simon's chest where his heart should be beating. "My life." 

Raphael Santiago may be hard around the edges, impossible to train with and moody more often than not but he doesn't deserve to be loved in the shadows. In the dark where no one will know. He should never be limited to casual touches around anyone who isn't a part of the clan, not when he has given so much of himself already. Even when Simon was nothing more than another trouble causing mundane, he'd taken a chance on him. 

 _"Mi vida."_ Simon repeats, brushing his lips along one cheekbone. 

 _"Mi alma,"_  he adds, another kiss on the opposite side.

(My soul) 

Raphael's eyes flutter closed. His voice comes out hushed, nearly a whisper, _"Tu hablas español?"_

"Only a little." 

He's right. Simon has been an idiot, taking something fragile for granted. Love, he thinks. 

He dips his head, murmuring the words against Raphael's lips; words he has never had a reason to say until him. " _Mi amor."_

The older vampire seems to come alive then. He cups the back of Simon's head and deepens the kiss. It's slow and sensual with every unspoken word finding where it should've been all along. Simon's hands are restless, sliding inside of a shirt where the buttons were purposely undone, scraping his nails against bare skin, tangling in Raphael's. He's following the curve of the other's back, down, down, down when-

"I'll see myself out," Clary interjects, effectively defusing the moment. There's happiness in her tone and for once, he doesn't chase after her or rush to correct a mistake. Instead, he clears his throat and puts space between himself and the clan leader. He can feel the air shift around them, Raphael assuming the worst. 

Why wouldn't he? Simon has given him nothing to prove otherwise lately, save for today. 

"I'll text you later." He replies, taking Raphael's hand before he can puff up his chest. 

She throws a wink over her shoulder and leaves. 

* * *

 

**[/NEW TEXT]**

**FROM:** Clary <3

 **TO:** Simon Lewis 

 

[7:14pm] CONGRATS!!!! I LOVE YOU!  **-CF**

[7:36pm] Your mom wants to meet him, she stopped me on the way home :) :)   **-CF**

[9:15pm, sent]  sorry, was busy. paperwork, vampirely duties.

[9:24pm] Spare me the details  **-CF**

[9:32pm, sent] thanks clary, I really mean that. love you. 

[9:36pm] <3  <3  **-CF**

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sorry if I butchered any spanish (feel free to correct me) or got out of character, I just needed this tiny nerd to choose raphael, to love him out loud because it's always give give give on raphael's part and taking on simon's. also simon never seems to wanna make a move on raphael when clary is around. the entire dynamic changes and it's enough to make a person mad, i'm telling you. my angry vampire son deserves better. 
> 
> **ETA: tysm Nubian_Rose for the translation help, you're an angel**
> 
>  
> 
> kinky vodka is real and the blue is the best. it looks like kool-aid and if you mix it with sprite or 7up and throw in some ice, it's heaven (if you're a minor pretend you didn't read that) 
> 
>  
> 
> title is from a song by troye sivan (cute little button)
> 
>  
> 
> sean lennon is a precious little bean and looks like his papa, he also sings and has an older brother named julian.


End file.
